


Keep Talking

by wildkaleidoscope



Series: tongue tied [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Emotional, F/F, Post Samaritan, everything is good and things are going well, its joss carter, set in a year or so after root is back, soft, the machine picked another voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildkaleidoscope/pseuds/wildkaleidoscope
Summary: Shaw keeps finding bridal magazines scattered in their place, and she thinks Root is trying to sned a message, but she's not sure how she feels about said message. (Root is just being Root, she didn't think much of it)





	Keep Talking

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was written thanks to @ifyoubreaktheuniverse on tumblr, because we kept talking about this happening and it escalated and I had to write about it, so enjoy some emotional Shoot! Also sorry if Shaw seems a bit ooc, but this is out of her depth too!!

It started with a single magazine, randomly found by the nightstand on an afternoon Shaw had decided to clean up. She had picked it up, curious from the ad on the back, and groaned audibly after the cover. Without thinking much of it, she had put the magazine in the top drawer. She knew Root liked to keep some reading material in there, but she kept to herself her opinions on her latest trend.

 

She had decided to not mention it, mostly because there was a nagging voice in the back of her head telling her talking about it meant it was  _ something _ . Shaw knew, through their past years together, Root would never ask more than what she gave. So it was stupid of her to think her partner in crime - and law nowadays- would insinuate something else than a detached interest in the matter of (the thought itself gave Shaw a heart tug) marriage.

 

So she went on about her day, putting the thought of the bridal magazine out of her mind by running after a lowlife dealer who thought she could skim a Colombian supplier. She had totally forgotten about it when she returned to the safehouse Root and her were sharing. She liked to think of it as theirs, even though it was really The Machine's.

 

Shaw’s gloomy expression faded as Root looked at her. She gave her a soft flicker of the lips; she was exhausted, that was the top smile she could muster. Root cocked her head to the side, putting strands of hair behind her good ear. This was her way of asking if Shaw wanted to talk about it. A tacit agreement, a quiet nod, and she went back to her reading.

 

Only then did Shaw feel a strain of concern, but merely for a second, as her eyes scanned the cover of her book. It was not the magazine she'd found earlier that day. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she felt almost  _ guilty _ to have even thought Root would try to convey a message that way.

 

As she walked past the taller woman, Root’s hand reached out and she hooked her fingers in hers. She gave the back of her palm a quick peck and pressed it against the warmth of her cheek before releasing her.

 

“Dinner is in the oven, and I think my gun is broken; something’s off with the safety. Would you mind taking a look?” 

 

It was all said in a breath, a quick smile flashed on her face before she went right back to her reading. Shaw had always appreciated Root’s understanding of her need for alone time. She had never been with someone in such a way, never been with someone who she liked spending personal time with. Working alongside others had never been an issue, she could be a team player (under the right circumstances and with enough incentive (money)). She had worked with Cole for years before he was shot; had had fellow soldiers and shared the happy hour here and there.

 

This was entirely different.

 

This was her, in her most personal spaces, in her most naked stance, even with clothes on.

 

She was not against Roots presence, it proved to be of genuine fun at times (mostly after a few drinks that would inhibit her eye rolling instinct to anything Root said). And very helpful on cold mornings. It had taken a few months after Root was back from the brink of death until Shaw stopped waking up with a gasp in the middle of the night, eyes wide open and a sickening feeling twisting her stomach; _ Root is dead _ . She'd turn around, slowly, listening intently, until she'd hear the soft breathing of her sleeping girlfriend. Her eyes would strain in the moonlit room, looking for the tip.of her nose, a strand of hair covering her face.

 

Shaw had never really grasped back all of reality after Samaritan robbed her of what she  _ knew _ and what was not.

 

But in those slight moments of what could only be described as  _ panic _ , her only means of knowing if anything was real was to trust the sigh of relief escaping her lungs as she traced the outlines of Root’s figure and watched her quiet features. To believe that the warmth spreading within her was  _ okay _ . And that  _ she is safe _ .

 

So Shaw had never really gotten around to thank Root for everything that she did, but somehow, she had a feeling the brunette knew exactly how thankful she was for her presence. Root, on the other hand, had always been quite clear with her feelings and if it had unsettled her (she had hated that the woman had such power over her) now she found it reassuring, like an insurance that Root would not be so passive aggressive about something so big.

 

Shaw mulled over her thoughts, sifting through the plate she found in the oven. She sat at the table, looking at Roots dismantled gun; for all that she could shoot, Root was the worst gun woman Shaw had seen when it came to taking care of her weaponry. With a short sigh, she pushed the plate aside and went to work on cleaning the gunpowder residue that had seeped everywhere.

 

She didn't realize how long it had been until Root came over, book in hand, and flicked the ceiling lamp on. Shaw blinked and few times, her eyes had accustomed to the dim lighting of the counter top lights. She looked up with eyes filled with fatigue and paused for a second. Her mouth opened to say something, but she thought better of it.

 

“You need to clean your gun more often.” She stated, getting up from her chair to grab a beer. “One of these days it'll get clogged at the wrong time and you'll be dead. Again.” She pointedly stared at Roots chest with a clenched jaw.

 

Root gave her a half shrug, sliding her feet -eternally in those silly fluff slippers- until she reached the fridge where Shaw was leaning, beer in hand. Root plucked the bottle from her hand and took a few sips before Shaw snatched it back with an eye roll.

 

“It's a good thing I have you to wipe it clean, get in all those dirty nooks and… slits. “ she replied with a sly grin.

 

If she didn't knew any better (she didn't) Shaw would swear Root had found an ever new way to flirt at the most awkward of time. She rolled her eyes with a scoff and pushed herself off the fridge, intent on getting to the living room. She didn't have the chance to get very far before she felt a hand grip her wrist and spin her around. Root pressed a forearm just above her collarbone,  against her neck, her back hitting the fridge harshly. She towered over her with glistening eyes and a devilish smirk; 

 

“I'm not dead, Sameen.” 

 

She waited too long to kiss her and Shaw hated how she was instantly so eager, longing, for her touch. Her eyes had half closed already, and her lips had a second to wonder where hers were.

 

Root had always been an enigma to her, but her body had known from the start exactly how much they belonged together. Shaw hissed when Root pulled back, her arm still holding her in place. She pressed just hard enough to make Shaw brace herself and her hands shot to her hips, still hesitant between pulling her as close as she could and shoving her off. Root leaned in the touch, and Shaw decided to pull her, the weight of Root’s body falling on her with a pleasant strain.

 

They never made it back to the couch, and barely to the breakfast counter right behind them. 

 

Shaw was left with disheveled hair and out of breath, clutching at Root’s back, her fingers still curled inside her. Softly, Root kissed her exposed shoulders, soothing where she had bit down with force a minute before, and took her hand to Shaw’s hip. The shorter woman felt a sudden need for closeness, something that didn't really happen to her,  and she released her nails from the red skin at Roots shoulder blades. Instead, she caressed down the length of her spine, barely touching, and she let her head fall on Root’s chest with a content sigh. Surprised by the sheer tenderness of her act, Root froze for a second, her heart tightening.

 

She remembered the few times Sameen had been this affectionate with her, and it made her heart twitch. The first time had been upon her return from Johannesburg, while she was still trying to figure out what was real and what wasn't.  She would put both hands on her face, fingers sprawled over her ears, and Root couldn't hear anything while she stared at her, speaking in the softest voice, words lost between the static of her cochlear implant and the blood rushing through Shaw’s fingers in her ears. She would look at her and her eyes had such a visceral  _ need _ in them, but not the kind she could satisfied. Shaw’s love irradiated through darkened irises, and she looked almost in pain, until her shoulders slumped, and her throat visibly tightened, and then she'd smile. And it was over, a mere ten seconds of unfaltering eye contact,  of untamed love, pouring directly into her eyes. 

 

The other time Root remembered feeling the nearly violent wave of love from Shaw was when she had herself come back from the brink of death. Her head was clogged with painkillers, and her arms were numb. She could feel everything in her body, but almost like you feel someone else's skin touching yours, not like it was hers. She had found Shaw, asleep beside her, one of Root’s hand tightly tucked away beneath her cheek. There was a message written on Root’s arm, in the distinctively square way of Shaw.  _ Please wake me up when you do _ .

 

Root hadn't wanted to wake her, but the strangle cry she didn't catch on time betrayed her. Shaw’s sleepy head, eyes red -from tears? She would never know - had shot up and the softest of smiles had stretched her cracked lips. 

 

“Hey stranger.” She had whispered, and her voice had felt mended, like Root could feel how broken it had spoken before those two soft words. 

 

Shaw had slowly raised their intertwined fingers and pressed the most subtle,  almost ticklish, kiss to the back of her hand, eyes closed.

 

Shaw had her moments of unrelenting affection, especially in the morning, in that sweet simple moment between sleep and reality. She would always reach her hand behind her, searching for Roots body, and when she'd found it, Shaw would grip whatever body part it was she'd touched. It would wake Root just enough that she'd turn around, and Shaw imitated her. In those quiet moments, almost unsure of whether they existed or not, Shaw pressed butterfly kisses all the length of her nose, over her eyes, and wished her good morning.

 

Root had stopped crying under her tenderness after a few months, but her heart never stopped skipping a beat when she smiled at her in those surreal moments.

 

Today was no different, especially because Root could sense Shaw had something on her mind. She made a mental note to ask the Machine later, maybe She had answers for her. For now, Root slowly rubbed circles on Shaw’s back, humming to an old tune that played on the small radio by the counter top. 

 

They stayed glued together, sweat drying in itchy patches, until Shaw lifted her head and gave her a quick glance. Root stepped away, linking their fingers together and she smiled gingerly. 

 

“You stink. You need a shower.”

 

She always had the touch needed to end those almost out of body experiences Shaw felt when she let herself  _ feel _ so much love at once. It's not like she always had control over how her emotions went, or didn't in her case, but she had seen what love was.

 

She had seen it in her parents eyes, in the way she could swear a special glimmer shone in their eyes when they looked at each other. She had seen it in the way her father always thanked her mother for whatever she had cooked, even on the days Shaw could barely look at the plate in front of her without dry heaving. Her mother was not the best cook, her father had scolded her one time, but she puts so much love into everything she does, so you will thank her and you will be glad she puts food on our table. Her father was soaring whenever he talked about her mother. And her mom always had that special,  unique, way of holding a strand of hair, looking like a teenager, when she saw her father walk into a room and he looked at her.

 

Shaw knew what love looked like, she knew what love sounded like too, but she had never felt it. 

 

Until now.

 

And sometimes, it still took her by surprise and she wasn't sure if she was still herself, if  _ love _ didn't meant  _ loss _ in a sense. Loss of what she knew, loss of what she thought she was, loss of what she had accepted of herself,  loss of power over her emotions. She stumbled through her knowledge of what love was and how she felt for Root. It had taken her a while to realize that the need to constantly protect the taller woman was about protecting more than just the Machine. It was about how Shaw felt like she couldn't breathe when she didn't know where Root was. It was about the inevitable pep in her step when Root looked at her with  _ that _ smile.

 

It was all about Root, and Shaw didn't feel so much like she lost herself amidst all those emotions anymore. It felt more like she had found something she didn't know she had.

 

Something only Root had the heart to see, and wait for.

 

Sameen gripped Roots hand a little tighter,  _ thank you _ , and followed her with a renewed appetite to the bathroom.

 

………

 

The next time it happened, Shaw was looking for her semi-automatic rifle (for reasons). When she opened the weapon cabinet, out fell three issues of the same magazine. With a frown, she had picked them up, wondering how such magazines could’ve ended up in this place. She made a mental note to remind Root about things being put back in their place. With a groan, she had thrown them on the table, but she still hadn’t found her gun. Defeated, she had sat down and her eyes had caught the covers again. With uncertain fingers, she had picked it up and started sifting through the pages.

 

It was full of forced smiles and guys holding their brides by the waist, looking disgustingly happy. She wondered for a second if Root would look this delighted in a white gown, but the idea didn’t sit right with her.

 

For the second time, she guiltily wondered if her girlfriend was trying to send her a message. It made her angry, this incertitude. She decided to confront Root about this later that night.

 

When time came, after Shaw had cleared the table and fed Bear, she suddenly found herself at a loss for words as she appeared in the living room. She looked at Root, knees tucked under her chin, a slight frown wrinkling her brows, with a book in her hands. She wondered if she thought often about marriage, and weddings, and all the sentimental crap Shaw never understood. She was lost in her mind, wandering off to the smell of Root’s neck when the sun shone through the blinds, how it was so warm, and how she wouldn’t mind waking up to that sight, with the undeniable truth that Root was hers. Hers by law, hers by God, hers by all of reality’s terms. She caught herself mid-gasp and put the thought back where it belonged; in the far, far, end of her mind, buried under layers of uncertainty and frustration.

 

She walked up to Root, mouth shut tight, and sat on the floor in front of her. Root poked her with her toes and Shaw brought the long leg over her shoulder. The remote in one hand and Root’s calf in the other, Shaw simply switched channels, mindlessly tracing little shapes on the soft skin. She liked the weight of Root’s leg on her, even though it made her breathing a little harder. Not that the woman was particularly heavy, but because it reminded her how real everything was.

 

She forced herself to stay, if only to not arise suspicion, but her heart was racing in her chest, fiercely trying to remain within this realm of reality. Her calculated breathing drove her to a sort of confused state of semi-awakeness, and her head rolled to the side. She let it rest on Root’s knee, fingers gripping a little tighter at Root’s ankle, and she lost her grip on consciousness. Her head was still clouded with doubt, but the soft whisper of Root’s voice echoed through the fog.

 

“Come to bed, Sam.” Root had a hand behind her head, caressing her hair slowly.

 

Shaw didn’t have to be asked twice, and she let Root take her by the waist, walking her slowly to their bedroom. Shaw was exhausted from another day helping The Machine, but she hadn’t realized just how tired she had been from running her mind over and over the question she didn’t dare ask. Was Root thinking of marriage? Did she want to get married? 

 

Shaw let out a sigh of annoyance; her brain needed to shut up for the remainder of the night. To quiet her thoughts, she relished in the warmth of Roots seemingly endless body. She could feel her  _ everywhere _ . From the leg carelessly thrown over hers, to the arm tightly securing her at the waist, to the hot breath on her neck, Root was on every inch of Shaw’s body. She liked that. She liked the way Root would take so much physical space when they went to bed that Shaw could not think of anything but her. Her mind had no escape, and her heart was a pumping a soft rhythm in her chest; Root, Root, Root, Root. It carried her back to sleep, fingers linked with Root’s and her back safely pressed against her bare chest.

 

Shaw wasn't always the little spoon, and she'd deny appreciating the embrace if asked, but Root always knew when she needed to be held (it was every night).

 

Her dreams were blurred with anger, and she kept seeing the same thing over and over again. In her dreams, Shaw had that scar behind her ear, and that was the one thing telling her this wasn't real. She kept seeing Root reading the magazines, sighing longingly as she flipped the pages,  but always avoiding Shaw's questions. Root kept talking about weddings  _ to other _ s but only when Shaw was within earshot. Then she'd stop as soon as she appeared in front of her. When Shaw tried to confront her, Root had mindlessly shrugged and walked away.

 

Shaw woke up in tangled sheets, sweaty and with a bitter taste in her mouth. She clenched her jaw, irrationally furious at Root, who was still asleep beside her. She couldn't remember the details of her dreams, simply that she was  _ angry _ and it made her even angrier now that she knew she was awake. Instinctively, she rubbed the patch behind her ear that was never cut open, and grunted.

 

With careful movements, Shaw got out of bed. Bear woke up too, the jingling of his tags ringing in the quiet room. 

 

“Ssshh, come here, handsome.” Shaw hushed, unfastening his collar. 

 

The click of his nails were loud as gunshots in the darkness and Shaw winced at every step they took towards the door.

 

“Shaw?” A drowsy voice called just as she grabbed the doorknob.

“Go back to sleep, Root.” She whispered a little harsher than she intended, wondering how her half deaf girlfriend could've heard her through her sleep.

“Are you alright?” Shaw could see she had propped herself on one elbow, and it occurred to her that maybe Root wasn't sleeping all this time.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” More defeated than angry, she paused for a second, eyes avoiding Root. “Go back to bed. I won't be long.”

 

Root mumbled something, but she complied, and Shaw heard the soft thud of her head hitting the pillow. She waited until she was out the bedroom, Bear in tow, to let out a long sigh. Now that she had escaped the room, her anger was still flaring in her chest, burning a painful fire deep in her core, and she didn't really know what to do. She still clutched Bears collar in her hand. Did she want to go out, to get out of their apartment? For a few seconds, she held Bear’s gaze, debating whether it was a safe idea. Shaw knew New York wasn’t the same at night, but she also knew all the right words in case of emergency.

 

Her hand hovered over her ear piece and cellphone. She shook her head; she needed to be alone, completely and utterly alone. Shaw hesitated longer than she wanted to; her anger grew at the tug of guilt when she pulled her hand away. She didn’t like to feel dependant on anything, but she hated even more that even when she was angry with Root - it didn’t matter that it was irrelevant - she still cared  _ enough _ to feel bad for possibly worrying her. Her jaw clenched and she clipped Bear’s collar and leash on, swiftly walking out of the apartment.

 

She knew where she was going before she realized where her feet were taking her.

 

The roundabout was empty, the swings slowly dancing in the cold breeze. A shiver ran down her arms; she should’ve put a jacket over her tanktop. Shaw put Bear in a down-stay and almost begrudgingly got on the roundabout. It protested under her weight and she let it move slowly, eyes trained on the trees guarding the park. Her mind wandered back to her dreams, but her thoughts were too scrambled to remember anything sustaining. She groaned; this wasn’t something she liked to do. Overthink every single thing that crossed her mind.

 

She found out that when it came to Root, this was an almost impossible task.

 

Shaw was taken back to summer mornings when she was a child, before her father’s death. How the kitchen was always flooded with sunlight, and how the dust particles would dance in the soft yellow light. She smiled through clouded eyes as she remembered spying on her mother, dancing to an old rock song on the radio, whisk in hand, flour on her cheek. Her father was sat at the kitchen table, his foot tapping the beat as he read his newspapers. A tight knot choked her throat when she shook her head; her parents had been so happy, and they were married. It had always been a pillar for her moral compass; would her father be proud of her for this? Would her mother smile, a hand caressing her cheek, telling her she loved her so much, if she married? If she married  _ Root _ ?

 

Her chest tightened at the thought;  _ Root _ , playing old pop songs on a little stereo, basking in sunlight, mixing pancake batter on a sunny morning. Shaw wasn’t the sappy kind, but something about the imagery of Root being so  _ domestic _ felt so powerful, so warm inside her. It made her smile, and she didn’t feel so angry at Root for trying to pressure her into a wedding. The more she thought of it, the less it made her feel angry, and the more it terrified her instead.

 

Could she be so domestic? Could she be so normal that she had a wedding, wedding vows and a ceremony? Was Shaw meant for all that crap? 

 

Shaw shook her head, frustration and annoyance clouding her happy vision. She’s a sociopath, feelings, emotions, and human relationships weren’t something she did. Nothing serious, nothing committed. But along came Root, the misanthrope who cried the first time Shaw left the biting and nails digging for a soft and lingering touch.. Root, the woman who had no regrets killing, hurting, others to get what she wanted.

 

Root, who had always understood her, from the very beginning.

Root, who Shaw could not stop thinking about.

Root, who showed Shaw love.

Root.

_ Root _ .

 

From the start, she had been an omnipresent thought in Shaw’s mind. The nature of her thoughts had changed, but the force at which they came to her hadn’t. Shaw gripped the bars of the roundabout a little tighter, and swung herself to the side. The motion rocked her thoughts almost peacefully, like watching a train pass by; you know it’s a train, but you can’t pull apart the different wagons from one another.

 

Was happiness meant to feel so conflicting? Was being happy something she deserved, something she could  _ do _ ? There were so many questions running through her mind, she didn’t hear the steps behind her. She closed her eyes, letting the roundabout spin leisurely, until she heard a soft thud. Before she could react, she was pushed off and she stumbled in the sand. 

 

A mischievously smiling Root sat on the middle pole, leaning back until her head was hanging almost upside down. Shaw wanted to get angry, but her breath hitched in her throat; there was something so simply beautiful about the giggle that escaped Root’s mouth as she spun herself faster.

 

“I knew you’d be up to something sketchy.” Root exclaimed in the dead of the night, louder than she needed, her cheeks pink. “Having fun without me, that’s low even for you, Sam.”

 

There was something in the pointed look Root gave, whenever she could see Shaw, that told her she  _ knew _ . Of course Root knew, that’s why they were so good together. Shaw crossed her arms, trying to get angry at Root, to stay angry at her, for all that she did in her dreams, and what Shaw felt she did in real life too. Or maybe she was just angry at herself for not controlling the warmth spreading within her as she watched Root spin around.

 

“So I’m just going to keep spinning on this thing until you talk to me, Sam. There’s something on your mind, and I feel like it has something to do with me.” she paused, swinging her body to keep the roundabout going fast. “The Machine is begging me to stop. Apparently, spinning very…” she stopped, out of breath and for a second, her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

 

Shaw tightened her grip on her biceps, staring hardly at Root, decided to not move. She wasn’t going to give in to Root’s semantics, she couldn’t be bargained with the same way The Machine could. Still, seeing Root almost lose her grip, risking some serious injuries at the speed she was spinning, it twisted Shaw’s insides.

 

“Woah!” Root exclaimed, breathing heavily as she regained presence after a second or two. “That was a rush! So, apparently, spinning very hard and fast when you have a cochlear implant means that you can fall unconscious. She’s telling me that I should stop.” She paused, seeming to listen. “That I should’ve stopped by now. What’s it gonna be, Sam?”

 

Shaw clenched her jaw. The Machine wouldn’t let Root spin herself to death.  _ Would she? _ She thought back of the time Root nearly died, how she was alone, because The Machine was dying too, how Shaw had been so angry. Out of all the emotions fighting within her right now, pride gripped her the harshest and she remained in a stern stance, fists tight against her arms, eyes watching Root.

 

“She’s begging you to do something; you know the terms.” Root’s eyes fluttered shut again, and it took every ounce of willpower for Shaw to stay immobile.

 

Suddenly, the speaker attached to the streetlamp that usually played some tunes during the day, hissed and screeched. It took both Root and Shaw by surprise, but Root’s smile spread a little wider. The Machine spoke, loud and angry, in that New York accent that Shaw wasn’t really used to after She shed Root’s voice. Detective Joss Carter threatened to wake the entire neighborhood with her volume.

 

_ “Shaw if you don’t stop her right now, she risks permanent balance issues.”  _

 

Shaw winced at the high pitched noise coming out of the speakers all around the park, pressing her hands to her ears. She groaned in pain, and so did Root (at least she found comfort in knowing The Machine was screeching in her ear too), until she gave up.

 

“Okay! Fine!” she threw her arms in the air and immediately, the noise stopped.

 

Root kept grinning, thinking she’d won, and she waited, expectantly, for Shaw to talk. Instead, Shaw stepped to the roundabout, extended an arm right before Root was in front of her, and decked her in the jaw. Root’s grip loosened enough upon impact for gravity to work its magic. No longer on the roundabout, Root started laughing from the ground, her body limp and her jaw hurting.

 

“Like a blast from the past.” she said and Shaw tried so hard not to laugh.

 

A smile still split her face and she rolled her eyes, more annoyed that she hadn’t knocked her out. When she realized Root couldn’t get up because of her balance, Shaw let out another snort, and she helped her back on her feet, laughing to herself.

 

“You still haven’t said a thing, Sameen.” Root was still out of breath, and her legs felt limp, but she sounded more serious.

“Maybe I don’t have anything to say.” The tone was almost somber, a gloomy fog falling upon the yellow lit park.

“You could’ve said that before I gave myself possible permanent balance issues.” Root pointed out as she let herself be carried home, leaning heavily on Shaw.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Shaw replied, but Root heard what she meant;  _ thank you for coming _ .

 

They walked back home slowly, and it was only when they rounded the corner that Shaw stopped, her body tensing up. She frowned at the ground, her fingers digging in Root’s side, and her mouth opened. Root tried her best to not look too expectant, but as Shaw looked up at her, hope had filled her eyes to the brim. Shaw gave a soft smile, barely a corner lifted, and sighed.

 

“I don’t feel like going to sleep.” The words escaped like a murmur, her throat suddenly dry and hoarse.

 

Root stayed silent for a second, then she tried to balance her weight on her own. She wobbled in place, and unhooked Shaw’s arm from around her waist. She took her hand, caressing the tattoo on her hand, and simply said “Okay.” They walked in silence, Bear happily following, wandering through the quietest streets they could find until the sun peeked from between the buildings. They stopped to get breakfast on their way home, and it was only under the neon light of the pastry shop that Root took a good look at Shaw. Her hair was stuck to her face where she had been sweating previously, and her eyes were circled with black. Her nose was red and she sniffled a lot, but Root put that on Shaw’s tank top not being weather appropriate. As they exited with a box of croissants and two coffees, Root unzipped her sweater and carefully draped it around Shaw’s shoulders.

 

Without a word, they climbed to their apartment, and Root guided a suddenly very tired Shaw to the couch. She went to put the croissants and the coffee on the counter. Shaw lied down, closing her eyes for just a second. She felt herself drift off, wrapped up in Root’s smell, her hands buried inside the sleeves that were too long, hood covering half her face. When Root came back from feeding Bear, she found her girlfriend asleep, and didn’t have the heart to wake her up. She went back in the kitchen, picked up the latest issue of her bridal magazine subscription, and sat across Shaw, sipping her coffee and sifting through the pages.

 

Shaw awoke to a wet nose being shoved in her face. The sun was high in the sky, and she felt too hot in Root’s sweater as the rays had warmed up her body from the waist down. She sat up, scratching Bear’s head and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Her back hurt from the unusual position. Across her, Root was still asleep, magazine sprawled on her chest. Shaw sighed; there was no escaping the taunting thoughts. 

 

Her eyes caught in the leg that was dangling from the sofa chair, skin surely warm under the sun. She let her gaze wander up to Root’s folded knee, her curled back, the way her head had carefully rested on the back of the chair. Her arms were crossed, and the coffee they had picked up earlier sat on the table beside the chair. Shaw got up and took the blanket she had been using, softly covering Root with it. As she did, the tall woman stirred and the magazine fell from her arms. Root woke up, blinking rapidly; she hadn’t heard Shaw approaching. Crouching in front of the chair, Shaw smiled for a second.

 

‘Morning, stalker.’ Shaw chuckled, as Root stretched like a cat.

‘Morning, wanderer.’ She reached out, waiting for a kiss, and Shaw obliged.

 

She knew she had to ask, and it was now or never. She cleared her throat, picking up the magazine and rolling it up almost nervously.

 

“Can I ask you something, Root?”

 

At that, Root sat up straight, one hand lingering on Shaw’s shoulder, a soft smile playing on her lips.

 

“Anything, sweetie, what is it?”

_ Marry me _ . “Why do you read that crap?” she showed the rolled up magazine, waving it in front of her.

“I like to imagine that these are the good people.” Root replied, and the tone was so frank, it took Shaw by surprise. 

 

A few seconds expand before she shakes her head; of course Root would have a logical explanation for this, even as illogical as it sounded to Shaw.

 

“You know these are all actors, right?” Shaw got up, heading to the kitchen after throwing the magazine in Root’s lap.

“Exactly.” Root appeared behind Shaw, leaning against the doorframe, watching her heat up her coffee. “They make happy look so  _ fake _ that it reminds me of what  _ my  _ happy really is.”

 

Shaw mixed sugar in her coffee with more force than she intended to, spilling some on the counter. Root handed her a cloth before she could look away. She took it without looking up, but her fist was brought back down with no intention of cleaning it up. Why did it make so much sense to her what Root just said? It was the sappiest thing she had told Shaw, and she’d said many things to her in the quiet of their house. Nonetheless, Shaw’s heart swelled up and she turned around. Her eyes were saying something Root couldn’t quite grasp, but her mouth said something else.

 

“You’re lame.”  _ I love you _ .

 

Root smiled and raised her eyebrows,  _ you asked _ , taking one last step to completely be in Shaw’s space. With a sigh, Shaw tried to turn around again, determined to have her coffee, but Root placed both hands on either side of her and leaned into her back. Shaw froze, feeling a well known tingling in her abdomen, as Root’s breath tickled her neck.

 

“What did you think I had them for, Sam?” the tone was way too arrogant for Shaw to ignore it.

 

She spun around, almost pushing Root off, grabbing her by the waist to steady her. She tipped her head up, chin pointed, and scanned Root’s eyes with a stern look. Just as Root opened her mouth to say something, Shaw kissed her, pulling her by the collar of her shirt; she was not going to have this conversation before she had coffee. And if Root was not going to let her drink her damn coffee, she’d make sure she was busying her mouth on something else.

 

………….

 

Shaw’s mind was set the second Root told her why she kept reading those disgustingly romantic magazines. At least, that’s what she’d tell anyone who dared ask. She really knew what she wanted to do when she thought of how tangible it would make this reality, how much more real everything would be if everything Shaw did, Root was immediately tied to it. 

 

So, as they’re lying face to face and their phones just started ringing for the fifth time in the last two hours, Shaw knew what she had to do.

 

Covering Root’s cheek with her hand, Shaw took a second to look intently at her, caressing damp hair out of her face. Root was mindlessly tracing circles just under her shoulder blade, and it sent shivers down Shaw’s spine. Root’s nose crinkled when she caught her own scent on Shaw’s fingers, and it made the dark haired woman chuckle. She inched her palm higher, pushing hair behind Root’s ear, like she usually did when she wanted to be certain Root heard. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she hummed in content, unaware of Shaw’s heart beat picking up.

 

Root’s breathing softened and she let the warmth of Shaw’s hand covering her good ear spread across her cheek. Shaw held her breath, waiting in a very stiff position, until she thought Root was drifting to sleep. She hoped she couldn’t hear, but also, she hoped she could.

 

“I want it, Root.” She whispered, careful not to press too hard on her ears, waiting a few seconds to see if she reacted. Nothing, she was asleep. “I want to be happy like that. I’d like it, I think, maybe I could even be good at it. I’d like to be happy with you like in those stupid magazines you like so much.”

 

She smiled, holding back the sigh of relief that coursed through her lungs. The words were out of her mouth, out of her head; she had said them. To Root. Or at least, in front of her, even if Shaw was fairly certain Root hadn’t heard. She thought it was good practice, and she would have another chance to ask her. This was just a test run, to see if the words felt as right coming out of her mouth as they did when she thought of how she’d get to watch Root every morning, how she’d get her final grip on reality with that proof of marriage. 

 

She caressed her cheek with the back of her hand before turning around, emotion filling her heart to the brim. She finally let out a deep sigh and pushed herself against Root’s sleeping body. Instinctively, the brunette slinked an arm around her waist and buried her nose in Shaw’s hair. Shaw’s breathing slowed down in a matter of seconds, just as her body relaxed into the embrace.

 

“I wanna be your wife.” She heard suddenly, and she couldn’t help that her body stiffened.

 

It was nothing but a whisper, slurred through drowsiness, but Shaw heard it clear as day, which meant that Root had heard everything she’d just said. Panic creeped its way in Shaw’s mind, but she quietly gasped and replied with an overtly casual tone; 

 

“I didn’t even ask you.”

 

Root could almost hear the gears in Shaw’s brain, spinning fast and trying to figure out what she was going to do. She feared that she had fucked it up, that she should’ve just kept her mouth shut. Let Shaw ask her in her own time, in a moment she meant for Root to hear her. She was about to apologize, tears gathered at the corner of her eyes, guilt tightening her throat. Shaw turned around, and Root couldn’t read her expression; her mouth was a thin line, and her cheeks were sucked in. But then, Root looked into her eyes, and the screaming they did felt so loud, she opened her mouth, shocked.  _ Say it _ , they said,  _ say it so I can too _ , they pleaded. 

 

Root let a small smile twist up one corner of her mouth as she whispered.

 

“Why don’t you ask me then?”

 

The sun had long ago hid behind buildings, and the streetlights were glowing through the open window. Root could make out the shapes and shadows of Shaw’s face as she softly placed a hand on her cheek. Her eyes were darting from left to right, digging into Shaw’s soul, encouraging silently. Shaw swallowed hard, softly shaking her head before she spoke.

 

“A four alarm fire.” Shaw couldn’t believe that this was happening, that this was a real thing, but Root’s voice pulled her back in.

“Pull the lever.” It was less an order than it was a fact, and Shaw nodded.

 

“Okay, Root.” 

She took a sharp breath, a grin curling her lips.

“Marry me.”

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think, pester me if ya want, maybe i'll write some more :')


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